


Safe Harbour

by Lyssandra_Med



Series: One-Shot [73]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, D/s relationship, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sane Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Smut, Young Bellatrix Black Lestrange, no paragraphs we die by lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27031903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssandra_Med/pseuds/Lyssandra_Med
Summary: Seven years. Seven years of longing, of wanting.What Hermione wants is now within reach.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Series: One-Shot [73]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429282
Comments: 6
Kudos: 105





	Safe Harbour

**Author's Note:**

> No edit.  
> My 100th work  
> Yay

It didn’t really matter that she was drunk.

She knew that no matter what her state of mind, sober or intoxicated, it wouldn’t change a thing.

It wouldn’t change what she wanted.

The burn of a Muggle cigarette was fading, throat relaxing as the numbing blush of alcohol heated up her cheeks, her face.

It was now or never.

Now or just pretend that she’d never had this idea.

Forget she’d ever said anything.

Now, or just pretend that she had never wanted anything other than a boring lot in life.

Hermione leaned into the witch’s space, watched as Bellatrix’s eyes widened.

Those silver coins, lightning in a bottle. Pits to the centre of the earth.

Hermione liked that look.

She liked the way Bellatrix leaned into her, leaned back.

She liked the way her fingers curled along the curve of the witch’s wrist, her nails digging into soft skin.

By all the Gods she’d wanted this.

_Needed it._

Craved it for far too long, so long in fact that her dreams were all nightmares where desire remained unfulfilled. 

But _here._ _Now._

Now she could do something about it.

She leaned in, pressed their lips together with a tightness to their muscles.

Bellatrix reciprocated, after a moment.

Drew Hermione in.

Sharp teeth biting, pulling on her bottom lip and tongue dancing out to taste her.

Nails pressing harshly into her wrists, hands guided onto the outside of her hips. Rising touches as she was drawn tightly against Bellatrix’s body.

The taste of alcohol, mint and something that was as heated as spice.

Fire.

She’d never have guessed that the witch would taste anything like this.

How could she have?

She’d simply remained at the periphery. A rival in scholastic achievement but nothing more than that.

They weren’t friends.

Never friends. Merely acquaintances.

But now?

Now they could be something.

She didn’t know what that meant though. She wouldn’t label it.

Labelling it might make it disappear. Jynx it.

Calling it something _real_ could break the spell.

But school was out, their exams were finished, and they had the rest of their lives ahead of them.

There were to be no more dormitories, no Great Hall, no glares shared between one another in classrooms or taunting calls from down the corridor as they passed into different classes.

Hermione could work with that.

She could close her fist around Bellatrix’s hair and drag the woman closer, _moan_ when she felt a mimic amidst her own curls.

Physical.

Nothing brutal, but certainly something more than _harsh._

Something that was more than nothing, and Hermione relished that.

Basked in it.

She wasn’t even aware when Bellatrix finally _Apparated_ them away. She was too tied into the woman pressed against her chest, and her mind was elsewhere entirely.

She noted distantly when Bellatrix pushed them both down into a mattress, its aged springs and cushions compressing neatly beneath their combined weight.

She noted the way that Bellatrix dropped lower, her lips and teeth finding purchase against the hollow of her neck.

She noted the way that they slowed their movement, passion breaking over the initial startled interest.

She noted the scratch marks on her wrist, all raised skin and tingling flesh.

She noted when Bellatrix stilled and moved to rise.

“Strip.”

One word.

One request.

More of a command than a request, really.

Hermione obeyed her. She’d always excelled at listening to her superiors in school.

She was the teacher’s pet.

She was a brown-nose.

A suck-up.

But the names didn’t really matter. They’d never really bothered her to begin with.

Her work ethic was something no one could take away from her, and a little schoolyard bullying wouldn’t change that.

Hermione applied herself to this task just as readily as she would have in class.

Bellatrix’s eyes were sparkling in the half-light of a sconce, a fireplace burning merrily in the corner of the room.

Hermione wanted to lean in and drown in those eyes.

She wanted to be subsumed beneath that inner heat, the sparks of lightning she saw dancing within their depths.

She wanted it.

With deft fingers she reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled, twisted it above her head and dropped it to the ground.

Swift fingers made short work of her bra, head tilting sideways to watch Bellatrix’s faint amusement.

The curve of her lips. 

Her smile, so thin but _full._

She watched the way Bellatrix’s cheeks flushed red despite the already heady flush of alcohol.

Her throat was bobbing when her bra met the ground, thumbs curling into her waistband to draw her jeans and panties off in one fluid movement.

The air in this room was so cold.

But the fire against her skin was new.

Bellatrix was _hot._ Soon enough Hermione could feel her own warmth rise, bronzed skin holding fire within her veins.

“Lean back.”

Hermione listened and obeyed, her eyes on Bellatrix’s as the witch pulled back to slide off the bed, her dress and finery slowly dropping from her shoulders.

Silver finery appeared from thin air, wandless magic roping Hermione’s wrists together and dragging them above her head, latching onto the headboard.

She was taut. Pulled up. 

She was dragged until her head was safely surrounded by resplendent pillows and her body rigid, legs pulled to the sides of the bed.

She was draped open for Bellatrix’s perusal.

It wasn’t something casual.

The eyes roving out across her skin were lascivious and _hungry._

She wondered if Bellatrix had been wanting this for just as long as she herself had.

That could be the case.

It could also be that the alcohol had simply removed whatever inhibitions the other witch had held.

“You really are a mudblood whore, aren’t you?”

The question surprised Hermione.

What surprised her more was the immediate acquiescence.

“Yes, Bellatrix.”

“Yes _Ma’am,_ I don’t want to hear my name on your filthy tongue.”

Hermione nodded. She understood this game.

She’d read. Watched.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

There was no reply from Bellatrix. Nothing verbal, at least.

Soft hands, thin fingers.

Palms resting against her ankles and her head tilted back into the pillows, her eyes shut tight.

Eyes open and body arching upwards when those palms ran north, followed the looping curve of Hermione’s leg and settled gently atop her knees.

Hermione moaned.

She couldn’t stop herself.

Couldn’t help from pressing herself lower as much as the bonds around her limbs would allow.

Bellatrix pulled away from her though, or raised up.

Hermione wouldn’t open her eyes to find out.

She knew the unspoken rule and allowed herself to relax. Withdrew her eager body.

After a time the hands came back to settle further, weight shifting as Bellatrix climbed onto the bed.

Distantly Hermione could note that this wasn’t right.

The prodigal daughter of a pureblooded House.

The shamed miscreant, a mudblood _whore_ who had been pining after what she couldn’t have.

But she had it now. She had Bellatrix kneeling between her open thighs.

Dark nails dragging along her skin, so very, very close to where she wanted them.

She could feel slickness leaking, hot and _needy._

Bellatrix ran a finger against her slit and Hermione’s world burst into light.

Her eyes were pointed at the ceiling, Bellatrix’s name ready to roll off of her tongue.

“Close your eyes, Pet.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Darkness coming again. Hands on her body, again.

A press to the centre of her core, a thumb twirling the nub of engorged flesh that sat at the apex of her slit. 

Hermione’s moans bursting into the room, louder this time and deliberate.

When Bellatrix presses her attack Hermione let it come. Gives in to the feeling, opens herself as much as she can with such limited mobility.

It’s enough. Barely.

In all of a second she’s being pierced through, guided with a startingly gentle touch until her body is rocking instinctually against Bellatrix’s hand.

She moves for the friction that hand represents, lets the witch set her own pace and then attempts to outrun it.

She’s never dreamed of anything like this.

_She loves it._

“You really are just a filthy mudblood, fucking yourself on me like this. Are you always this needy, Pet?”

The answer is a simple affirmative. A rollicking of her body, a sharp intake of breath.

Then nothing at all.

She can sense when Bellatrix pulls herself away, a frightening rapidity leaving Hermione alone and empty.

Cold.

Lonely.

The snap of a whip is unexpected. The lash against her stomach surprising.

There was no way for her to stop the scream that ran out from her lips, red and raw, the fluidity of the action hurting her more than the pain. 

Again. This time diagonal to the first.

Again. New position.

Again.

Each sting brings her skin to welt, angry and heated as her nerves bleed off the shock.

Then nothing, the feeling replaced with nails digging into her skin and fingers entering her core again.

Repeat.

Again.

Same pattern, same conclusion.

She was driven high and then left to wander, floating down on pain and bliss that lay horridly unfulfilled.

“Please!” She exclaimed, her breath torn away from her throat when Bellatrix disappears again, her fingers wiping themselves clean against the inside of Hermione’s thigh.

She needed the release.

 _Needed_ it.

She couldn’t tell how long she’d been laying on this bed.

Minutes?

Hours?

No idea. No clue. No way to tell or mark the time, nothing to think about except the constant inevitability of her orgasm, and the whining hurt when the chance at release was taken away.

“Please what?”

“Please, please let me finish, please, Ma’am.”

Her words were a torrent of emotion. Broken and halting.

Tired.

Ecstatic.

Pink tongue wetting her lips, thighs trying to close against themselves, a search for friction that she couldn’t meet.

It was Hell and still, she loved it.

“Well, I suppose I should let you. It wouldn’t do to have you whining and ruining my bed any further.”

Hermione knew what that meant, and still she wasn’t ready for it.

Wasn’t ready to suddenly feel a tongue press against her centre, travel up as lips closed around her clit.

Teeth were a constant tease, just barely there but present enough to remind Hermione that Bellatrix was _dangerous_ , here.

She came pitifully quickly. A blast of heat exploded from within her chest, the whole of it travelling outwards until her face was so hot she thought she might melt.

Limbs tingling.

Mind high.

_“Crucio.”_

If there was anything in the world that could have sustained her orgasm, it was that.

She didn’t know when Bellatrix had grabbed her wand but the press of its tip against her body right in the centre of her chest had been her only warning.

She hadn’t been looking out for that. 

Her eyes were closed and she was off amid the clouds. 

The spell reverberated underneath her skin, again and again, and again. Sudden waves of power, darkness heady and malignant as it ran its course.

She curled herself up as much as she could, stopped only by the weight settled against her hips and Bellatrix’s hand holding her by the throat.

And then it was gone, and Hermione cried out in relief.

Every patch of skin was doused in blessed _nothing,_ her body a sea of warm water that flowed with every breath.

She cried. Thin tears, no sound, open-mouthed and panting.

Bellatrix quietly removed the last of her restraints, pulled her softly into her lap and cradled her from above.

Soft lips pressed against her hair, sweet nothings and affirmations rolling from her tongue like water. 

Hermione was parched.

Her throat burned, her eyes stung, and the heavy weight of the evening had settled upon her heart.

She cried for some time. She wasn’t certain for how long.

It didn’t matter.

Eventually, she drifted, slowly and with little effort on her part.

Sleep claimed her.

\---

When Hermione awoke she was nestled deep into Bellatrix’s arms, their bodies pressed tightly together and a thin film of sweat the only thing between them.

Hermione moved, pulled away, turned and settled herself against Bellatrix.

She could see her eyes. 

Silver.

“Morning,” the witch greeted her, head leaning forward to let her lips grace the tip of Hermione’s nose.

“Morning.”

She didn’t rightly know what this was.

She didn’t know where all their shared antagonism had gone, where seven years of hatred and longing had fled to.

But for now, all was right. Righted. A ship once floundering, now continuing onto safe harbour.

She didn’t know what this was, or what they were.

But she knew she wanted it.


End file.
